Where Fate Takes Us
by Death'sSymphony
Summary: Tom knew he was special and no one would be just as special as him. So when he sees Harry, a boy with the same powers as he did, being bullied and yet does not use it against his tormentors, he vows to himself that no such being should be just as special as he was when they were so weak. (This is M/M, if you haven't notice the pairing)
1. Childhood Memories

Notes: **Before anything else**, I'm going to say here and now that I'm not aware of the exact locations or layout of the places I'm going to mention here so please turn a blind eye to any mistakes in accordance to locations although the orphanage and little whinging being quite near each other is intentional.

Also this is a fusing of two timelines: Tom's and Harry's, so this is _not time travel._ But I'm going to use Harry's timeline which is in the '80's. Tom's birthday would still be the same day except, obviously, the year. So Dec. 31 1979.

If you have the time, please read the long author's note at the end. Thank you!

* * *

They were eight years old the first time they met.

Harry was running away from Dudley and his gang as they played their favorite game: _Harry Hunting. _The sun was still high up in the sky, it's heat beating at his back making sweat roll down his whole body and his clothes drenched in sweat.

If harry hadn't been so busy running for his life, he would have felt disgusted with it. He thought mildly if the sun was his ally this time.

Harry turned his neck to see his pursuers a good distance away from him similarly drenched with sweat with ragged breaths and appeared to be much slower than before.

They had been at it for almost half an hour—perhaps shorter, perhaps longer, Harry couldn't be bothered with time when his life was on the line but he thought about it anyway—with very close calls on three occasions when they had seen where he had been hiding.

He had taken a kick in the stomach, courtesy of Piers, when he had been too slow to get out of the row of thick bushes he had squashed himself into.

Harry retaliated by kicking Piers on the shin when he made to grab him. It was only pure luck that the others were much slower than Piers was.

Although, Harry was a bit surprised and amazed to see that they were still on his trail, running after him with Dudley at the very back of his goons, chest heaving, body bathed with sweat, and a hand cradling a stitch on his side from running so much (and the fact that he was a Vernon-in-the-making).

It was only in times like this that Harry was thankful for their difference in body mass.

After all, Harry, small and thin as he was, made him much lighter on his feet and being able to wiggle his way through tight alleys or hiding himself under small bushes or behind trashcans with widths larger than he was (not that it was any challenge to find things thinner as he was except poles, of course, but who would hide behind poles?), though it didn't change the fact that he grew weaker just as fast.

Dudley had more on the energy reserves department unlike him that was all skin and bones and the fact that he hadn't eaten this afternoon when he had burnt the chicken that his Aunt Petunia had told him to fry.

Not that it was Harry's fault, Vernon kept on calling for him from upstairs to bring this and bring that. That he had to run each time just to make sure that the fire was just the right strength and when it was time to flip it.

In the end, one of it burned because he had tripped on one of the stair landing on his way down because he didn't saw Dudley's toy car lying on the floor and so he had stepped on it and then there was a loud crack and a yelp from Harry as he rolled down the remaining steps.

He was just inspecting his body for any serious injuries when all hell broke loose.

There was Dudley throwing one of his tantrums because apparently, he heard Harry's cry and went to see and tease him about it (or most probably, make him scream some more) when he saw his broken car.

And there was his Aunt Petunia screaming her lungs off when she smelt the burnt smell of their frying food and there was his Uncle thudding down the stairs to see what all the ruckus was about.

And then they were all yelling at him at the same time evidently unconcerned and turning a blind eye on his injured and slightly bloody foot, and was that a bump on his head already forming?

"No lunch for you, you lazy freak!" His Aunt Petunia had raged, hurrying over and fishing the chicken out of the sizzling oil. Harry saw that it wasn't even so burnt as to make it inedible, just a bit darker than usual.

"Just you wait; I'll get you for this!" Dudley's promise of pain.

"What in the bloody hell did the freak do again?!" And his Uncle's contribution to it all.

Looking back on it now, this all happened because of that stupid little toy car.

And thus Dudley.

No surprise there.

_Freak…_

Ah, yes. That… word. Harry was familiar with that and had a very close relation with it. He almost thought it was his name. Most of his first five years he was called Boy and most commonly, Freak by his family. He rarely went out then because he wasn't allowed.

It was only because of school that he knew his name, _Harry Potter_... He was also sure there was a _James_ in the middle. The teachers even gave him strange looks when he wouldn't respond to his name during roll calls.

Harry only knew of the real meaning of the word when he heard Dudley tell to others how much of a _freak_ he was and the things he does that no one understands and saw the other children give him disdainful looks and started calling him as such as well, coupled with flying spitballs or crumpled papers or stones or sometimes a painful combination of both.

The word didn't hold meaning in itself, he heard it a lot of times that it was like any normal word, and rather it was the way they looked at him when they mutter those words. He knew then that it was something appalling, something that made people cringe and stay away.

Not one listened to his pleas or explanations. Not that he could explain something even he didn't understand.

Harry shook himself from his thoughts when he noticed that he was somewhere he knew was quite far from his current residence. Now that he thought of it, they had already passed by the park.

He made a mental note to himself to refrain from using unknown alleys often unless he was about to be caught. He turned on another alley and stopped for a breather. He was starting to feel the weight, or lack thereof, of him not eating lunch.

This just wouldn't do, just a few more minutes and he'll be on the mercy of those brainless bullies.

Harry jerked his head when he heard laughter and saw some kids running ahead on the road and felt hope bloom on his chest. If he remembered correctly, he saw an orphanage when they passed by here when he and Aunt Petunia went out for groceries.

More people meant more chances of escaping.

He peaked from where he was hiding and saw the idiots pausing for breath just as he was, though they were twisting and turning their heads in search of him while Dudley was, once again, sitting on the pavement, red faced and panting.

Quite the sight, really. Harry cringed.

Harry still wondered what was so fun with hurting others or chasing after someone. It was clear that they were hurting themselves just as they were hurting others.

He mentally berated himself once again and turned his mind on the matter at hand and started moving. As he had expected, the others were on his back once again.

* * *

It was hot.

He could feel the drops of sweat making a wet trail at the back of his damned dark shirt and making it stick to his skin. Didn't the people on the orphanage know that dark clothes aren't fit for summer? And haven't they thought that it was much better for them to be _indoors _in this heat?

Why the matron suddenly had the urge to go outside in this time of the day or why she had to bring them along was beyond him. What if they got heatstroke or a nosebleed?

Most probably chastise them for being so careless and punish them for it.

The other _caretakers_ didn't even _care_. Add to that his pale complexion, he was bound to have nasty sunburns like last year. He frowned once more and glared at their matron's back.

'_Idiots, the lot of them.' _He thought irately as he felt another roll down the side of his face and another on his brow. He swiped it away angrily with his hand and continued using his book as a cover from the heat of the sun. '_And here I thought the older you get, the wiser you become. Though with these people I'm sure it's the other way around. If they even have any in the first place.'_

"Tom! Stop lagging behind and hurry up." Mrs. Cole had shouted ahead of him and he scowled back at her, making no move to hasten his steps and instead made a beeline for the shadows of the walls or buildings he could find. She merely sighed angrily and ushered the other children along. Good, times like this did Tom think that they _had_ brains after all.

They were going to the park. As was what they did once or twice every week, depends on whether there would be enough people to accompany them there. This time there were four of them, including Mrs. Cole. Each of them carrying a large umbrella that covered the caretakers more than it covered the children.

It was a quite a long way from where the orphanage was and he didn't care much since he, according to the book, needed the exercise for a good physical health. But with heat this strong and clothes this dark, it might result to some other unfavorable outcomes.

Definitely not good for the health.

But he couldn't say no because when the caretakers asked the other children whether they wanted to go to the park or not, majority of them yelled yes.

The older ones, with Tom silently agreeing, protested though they were ignored in favor of the others and since it was standard that they all went out during these times, they could do nothing but trudge along with them in the heat of the day, grabbing anything they could to protect themselves from the heat.

But no matter, he could just break away from them inconspicuously on the way and go to the library, God knows it was much cooler there, and drown himself in more knowledge.

Yes, he would do that. Besides it wasn't like these recreant people were going to search for him.

"Hey hurry! He's over there!" Someone yelled from behind him and he paused, just as some of the other people around him, and turned to look curiously just in time to see a boy with hair as dark as his, though very much opposite to his own groomed hair, fall to the ground face first.

Tom grimaced inwardly when he imagined how much that would have had hurt but the boy merely pushed himself up once again as if the fall never happened, the bridge of his nose bleeding from where his large broken round glasses had broke his skin due to his fall.

The boy turned, frightfully, to look at the other kid who had shouted a while ago and Tom understood what this was all about.

It had happened to him after all when he was much younger. Back then he would run just as this boy was doing or take the brunt of it all, grit his teeth and wait for it to stop, all the while cursing them on his mind and holding back the furious tears that threatened to fall because he refused to let them.

As if Tom would give those arrogant idiots the satisfaction of seeing him beg and cry.

Back then he was just as weak, just as shameful.

And then he knew of his special abilities, trained to control it and trained some more, and since then instead of just lying there and suffering their kicks and punches, he made _them _hurt instead. He still ran away from them though.

His power, as peeved he was to admit it, was yet to be fully under his control. It took a whole lot of concentration and energy. Energy that he did not have much for food in _that _kind of place was as limited as it could get.

Tom wasn't still _quite _in control, but soon…

Yes, he endeavored to do just that.

Tom learned to stand for himself because there was only so much the caretakers on the orphanage could see and do. And even if they did, some of them did not care, others merely gave the offenders a slap on the wrist when they put the blame on him and pulled off their carefully rehearsed repenting faces. The caretakers just proved that there was a whole different level to idiocy.

Tom would have given them credit for their great acting skills if he hadn't been so busy sending them to their early grave with his eyes alone.

The resulting outcome afterwards was no meal for a day or up to the dark creaky attic he goes. It was always him in the end, but who cares? When he got to see them bloodied and crying with some even pissing themselves with fright of the unknown, it made enduring those punishments worth it.

Tom would never associate himself with those fools. He was way ahead…_ above_ them. He was special and he knew it. He could do things none of these stupid and weak people could do.

Yet, they called him a _Freak_. The freakish boy with the freakish abilities. And then the caretakers knew and they all steered clear of him in fear of him retaliating with his freakish nature. On occasions, anyway.

There were still those foolish times when they would dare _straighten him out_. Like when Rick, the handyman of their orphanage, tried to beat the abnormality out of him.

Tom made the belt beat _him _instead, though it took quite some time, what with pain taking his concentration away, and he himself didn't get away unscathed.

After that Mrs. Cole ordered him to be locked away in the cold, dark attic for a week with no meals for three days with his back an angry red. The next day, he woke up to feel his back healed.

He frowned when he remembered those times and shook himself clear of those memories and instead watched as the boy continued to run, getting closer and closer to where he stood.

The boy was fast on his feet, Tom observed idly, with faded clothes too big for his body. He was on the thin side, if his exposed arms and legs were anything to go by.

It would also appear that he had been running for quite some time now, since he was short on breath and his face and shirt was drenched with sweat.

At least it was white, Tom noted enviously.

Their eyes met when the boy got near enough to see him and Tom sneered at him inside his mind, though physically, he merely stared at him blankly.

The boy looked pale and ready to fall anytime soon but he continued to run anyway, because that or risk his thin bones being broken with those meaty bodies.

Tom didn't know whether to applaud the kid for his perseverance and stamina or not because he wasn't doing anything to stop them. Like go to the older people perhaps, or to the police station just to keep them at bay and wait until they grew tired waiting for him to move away, he was already outside for heavens' sake.

Not that Tom would do any of those things but weak people had no right to be picky or prideful. That boy definitely looked weak. Idiotic and weak, though there was this sort of feeling from him that Tom couldn't put his finger on.

Tom could help him… That boy was already far ahead of Tom and the bullies were still after him, with one, the fattest of them all, limping and wheezing near him.

He could make them trip out of thin air and give more time for the other to run. If this had been going on for quite some time then it wouldn't be ending anytime soon…

He scoffed and resumed walking. He didn't have any kind of obligation to that kid, anyway. Random acts of kindness were not his thing. Rather, kindness wasn't his thing.

He went ahead to the library.

* * *

The second time they met was a few months after that.

It all happened so fast. Tom was on his way back from the library, one second he was looking at the green light that said it was fine to cross the road, the second he was looking at the car that was running towards the onslaught of people crossing the road with no signs of stopping.

The driver was a woman and Tom didn't know much about cars but from the way she kept moving her head she seemed to have lost her breaks and then she was beeping her horn when the crowd didn't disperse.

Tom stayed rooted on the spot just as the others on his side of the road, safely away from the accident about to happen. He had no desires to die anytime soon.

All around him, people were talking and murmuring to each other as they stayed far away from the road and close to the building walls, in fear that the car might swerve to them in an effort to avoid the people in front of it.

There were shouts and screams as the people from the other side scrambled to get to safety. The others backtracked their steps; the others went along their path but one wasn't fast enough. It appears that he had fallen over which wasn't surprising, Tom thought as he eyed the multiple plastic bags the kid was holding on his bony arms.

"Hey, kid! Get out of there!" One shouted at his back.

"Oh God! Help him!" Another said from his side.

"Hurry! Call an ambulance! The police!" A woman said, her voice quivering, expecting the worse.

"Someone help him!"

No one moved.

Tom frowned with everything he heard in that little span of time and thought how foolish this people were and to think that they were all adults unable to help a small child as they feared for their own safety.

As if he was one to talk, but what can he do? Run and help him up then end up dead with him? Make the car stop? He wasn't even sure he could do it with such little time…

All of a sudden, the car stopped.

Tom watched a little transfixed with how it just suddenly happened and from the way the woman on the driver seat almost had her eyes bulging out of their sockets as she looked down on her feet and back upfront, proved that she, herself, was just as surprised as all of them.

Did he, by some accident or instinct perhaps, made the car stop? But that could not be, after all, he wasn't feeling particularly threatened or anything for that matter.

Merely a detached sort of feeling as he watched the crowd disperse and holler out their fake concerns as they stayed safe on the sidelines.

Or did his power get stronger? Tom shook his head, he did feel powerful especially now that the other children from the orphanage wouldn't dare cross him face to face (but that was of miniscule concern after _that_ one display that affected everyone, Tom knew they wouldn't dare harm him in any way) but he didn't feel much more powerful power-wise, that was for sure.

And then a thought crossed his mind.

'It couldn't be…' He thought as his eyes shifted to the small body shivering on the road.

The kid had his hand up, exactly positioned against the bumper, his eyes shut tight which opened suddenly and stared transfixed at the car then on his hands—was that relief on his eyes?—then he stood up and hastily gathered his groceries before running awkwardly towards where Tom was standing looking just as shocked.

The silver-eyed boy felt a sense of déjà vu when he came nearer. Same dark messy hair, thin trembling frame, and the same determination set on his eyes. His face just as flushed as back then with exhaustion.

Their eyes locked again and he saw the recognition in those thickly covered eyes before they looked down in what Tom saw as an act of weakness and shame.

Tom gritted his teeth and scoffed. 'As if a boy as weak and shameful as he is would hold the same powers as I do.'

He felt shudder of disgust inside of him from just thinking that. He was able to control his powers albeit with much patience, effort, and time, still he did it and if he could why no…

'No. Stop this thought, right now. He and I would _never_ be the same.'

Tom took one last repugnant glance at the limping boy before he erased every thought of the _stranger_ inside his head and grudgingly made his way back to the blasted orphanage.

* * *

Christmas passed; his birthday passed, seasons came and went, uneventful.

It was the middle of October now, and the cold crisp air blew outside with dried leaves littering the grounds giving Tom and the other children in the orphanage a hard time cleaning them up due to their thin clothes and lack of proper equipments.

Tom resolutely ignored the bespectacled boy whenever he came wondering on their area.

Sometimes he'd see him during his outings to or from the library with the same grocery bags on the boy's thin hands; sometimes while on their way to the park or in the park itself; sometimes while he was up on his room, he'd see him running as the first time they met with the same tormentors.

Just as he was doing now—and was it just him or did the group got bigger? He scoffed loudly.

He immediately tore his eyes away and back to the book he was reading. Tom thought why he was seeing the boy frequently now (not as frequently though, once every other week perhaps, more or less. Tom didn't count nor did he care) as he felt the same irritation that came every time he saw that thin weary face hit him once again.

_And the thought that perhaps he's got the same power as _you _do._ Tom pursed his lips and banished the thought.

"With recognition comes awareness." He muttered under his breath as an answer as to his own question.

He glanced one last time outside his window to see the same limping whale of a child before he stood up and made his way to the back of the orphanage.

Seeing that boy had set him off once again and he needed to let off some steam. He only hoped there wouldn't be anyone on his way less they 'mysteriously' find themselves on the ground in pain and him being the prime suspect even if they had no evidence then off to the attic he goes.

* * *

_It_ happened again when he was cringing from the pain and all he wanted was for it to _stop, stop, stop!_

Dudley along with his gang was pelting him with rocks that were abundant on their feet as they chanted with jeering voices "Freak! Freak! Stay away from us, Freak! You should just _die!"_ Harry lay curled up on the ground, his small thin hands cradling his head to avoid head injuries.

Those tend to bleed heavily than any other parts of his body as he knew by experience and he had no desire to go back to that house where he knew he wouldn't have any kind of care or be pulled aside by the authorities or concerned people when he knew quite well that they wouldn't be able to help much.

He could feel the wounds that sharp rocks had sliced open on his arms and feet, the hard jagged bodies of the rock as they landed on various parts of his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth and as the pain grew unbearable, he shouted for them to stop which they did, miraculously.

Thankful but curious, he slowly lifted his head up to see the rocks floating around him. Wide-eyed, he looked at his bullies and saw them gaping at him in shock, cold sweat falling down their pale face as they watched the slowly rising rocks around them.

Harry's first thought was 'Yes, let's see how you would handle these rocks you so love.'

He clenched his fists and glared at them, that feeling of power running through his veins made him feel invincible despite the fact that he was still lying there in the thick mud with bloodied cuts littering his body.

Just as they took a step back, the rocks suddenly came flying towards them with speed unseen by human eyes.

Harry felt his lips twitch upwards as he watched them scramble away from the almost invisible rocks only to fail and fall to the ground and make a great imitation of his position as it assaulted their bodies.

It was only when he saw Dudley glaring at him through bloodied hands, snot running down his cheek and tear-filled eyes, did he realize the full extent of what he had done. Consciously or not.

Nevermind the others parents, nevermind Dudley and his minions, what was he going to do when his aunt and uncle heard of this?

The rocks suddenly stop and fell with hard thumps on the ground just as his thoughts broke with an uncontrollable flow of situations waiting for him at home. And just as his thoughts veered to dangerous outcomes, his cousin just had to drop the bomb.

Dudley grinned evilly, "My father's gonna hear about this, you freak." He stood up and left with the others who looked at him with wide frightful eyes even as they cursed him with words too colorful for even teenagers to utter.

It was the first time they had seen him do something unexplainable and he knew that after this, either they would leave him be or would put more effort to tormenting him. With Dudley on the lead they're sure to tread the route of the latter.

Shakily, he stood up and turned to see someone standing beside a tree not too far off from him, only to flinch back as he saw that same expression his uncle Vernon always held when Dudley mislead him with his false misdoings.

A look of pure fury.

He wondered whether the cat woman across the Dursleys would be able to help him out.

* * *

It was _real._

Tom felt the same anger inside of him bubble up the surface and he clenched his fists and teeth as he watched the scene before him.

The other kids had already gone back to the orphanage and it was only pure chance that he had seen the boy running on the other side of the street as he ran towards the park he was currently in and, in a moment of strange curiosity, he stayed behind only to get the biggest surprise of his life.

He knew how those rocks suddenly rose from the ground. He knew when they rushed towards the others, and, disconcertingly, he _knew _those eyes.

That same feeling of power rush and incredible feeling of being in _control, _of knowing that never again would they touch him with the same ruthless fists and pounding feet.

That he would never again _suffer._

It should have continued just like that. They should be flying with the same impossible speed towards those stupid, useless children. Making them dirty with blood and giving them _pain _that Tom knew very well of.

It didn't have to stop and yet it did.

_He _didn't have to be the one terrified and shaking on the ground as they left and yet _he_ was.

Tom didn't understand.

He _certainly _did _not_.

* * *

Harry did not understand.

He was _not _clumsy.

He prided himself with his great coordinated movements even if he was tired. His past achievements of outrunning Dudley and his gang was enough proof of that and it was only in times when he was feeling sick or too weak to go on that he shamefully falls on his face.

That day was not one of those days, as a matter of fact, his day had started out normally (as normal as his life goes). He did his chores perfectly and as a reward, got to eat a full lunch of soup and rice. Even the sun took pity for him and didn't show up when he was tending the garden.

When he was done, he was given permission to go out; Dudley and his friends showing up was pretty normal and since he was confident that he could outrun them, he merely sighed and started their game of cat and mouse or as Dudley fondly called 'Harry hunting'.

He went to the park, as was wise since there were a lot of people there that day with the sky packed with clouds and birds chirping in the trees. He ran between them hoping to pass the time as he hid behind their thick trunks, only to feel a force push his back with strength that made him fall and skid ways away on the ground he'd just been on.

He groaned and gingerly stood on his knees, feeling his body throb painfully as he did so. He inspected his bloodied arm, there were tiny pebbles still stuck on his arm from where he'd slid on the rocky ground.

The sting of pain on his face told him that even his face was not unharmed, luckily he wore long pants that day so his knees were safe from scratches and wounds though they did throb in pain. He always hated these kinds of wounds. They always left a scar and took a lot of time to heal, not to mention, they hurt when moved.

A shout on his back, made thoughts rush inside his head and he immediately stood up only to fall back down as a leg painfully greeted his stomach.

"You're so _pathetic._" Piers jeered down at him as he deposited another bony kick on his head. There was a round of laugh and all Harry wanted to do was to crawl under a rock and never get out. "How clumsy can ya get, freak? Trippin' on your own feet now are ya?"

"Is your freakishness affecting you now, too?" Someone jibed in and he couldn't help but feel a knot curl tightly on his stomach.

Perhaps they were right. That this… this _freakishness _was the cause of every painful trips and falls because there was no other reason for it, right? How can he feel someone push his back when there was no one there to begin with? How could he trip when there was nothing there to stumble into?

This was not the first time it happened. It's been happening for months, whenever he was on the park or when he was on his grocery trip with or without Dudley on his back.

Quite frankly, he didn't know _when _it started.

Harry endured a few more kicks and mocking words from them before they finally decided that such a beautiful day shouldn't be wasted with him so they left him on the ground, bloodied and bruised once again.

Harry stayed for a couple of minutes in the same familiar curled position as he reeled his breathing in before finally standing up on shaking legs.

He turned and a sense of déjà vu washed over him as he caught a pair of familiar dark eyes watching him from beside a tree, face blank. He'd been seeing that face for a long time now; on the park, on his groceries, on the street. But they never did talk, just the occasional glances—more like glares—and eyes catching each other. With the way the boy was dressed, Harry was certain that he was one of those kids from the orphanage.

'How long has he been here?' Harry thought angrily as he limped his way towards the other boy, there were still a lot of people there as he could see between the trees. _'_He'd been watching the whole time and he didn't even think about helping me or calling out for help?_'_

The boy was still watching him, he didn't look like he'd be helping Harry anytime soon, not that Harry was expecting him to but some people would, right? With the way the other sneered at him and turned, it would seem that he was not one of those people.

"Hey, wait!" Harry didn't know why he called out but he already did anyway, he also didn't expect the other to actually heed his call but the other did. "…How long have you been here?" Harry asked since there was nothing else he could say could he?

"Why do you care?" The other shot back in a tone as if Harry had done him wrong. Harry felt his own temper flare up, happenings of a while ago slipping from his mind.

"_Why do I care?_" Harry repeated incredulously as he stood his full height. He just realized how tall the other kid was. "I was just beaten on the ground with an inch of my life and you happened to be there _watching_ as if this was some live _movie_."

The kid's face darkened visibly, "And that is _my _fault, how? You're alive and kicking aren't you? You don't look like you'd need the hospital anytime soon although you'd need the bath…" He paused and eyed Harry from head to toe before sneering, "Or not. It does match your appearance quite well."

Harry gritted his teeth, face reddening from anger. "What did you just say?!"

"I've got no time to waste for people like you." His tone was final as he turned and quickly walked away from a still angry Harry.

"But you've sure got time to _watch _people like me—Wait!" This time the other didn't even look back. "I said wait! Stop! What's your name?!"

The other still didn't respond. Harry was not so desperate that he'd run after him just to know the rude kid's name so he stayed rooted on the spot, angry and confused although there was no harm done, right? He'd heard worse, he'd been neglected in more than one occasion.

This was just one of them.

_He _was just one of them.

'I hope I never meet you again.' Harry thought angrily as he made his own way back to the Dursleys.

Why did it feel that he'll be meeting that kid more now?

It took Harry a day to realize that that kid saw what _happened_ yet didn't say anything nor did he look particularly _afraid_ of him.

Quite the opposite really.

* * *

After their little confrontation.

Tom made sure that the other—_Harry_—as he heard them call him on one occasion, didn't see him anymore. Tom stayed far away as possible but still managing to torment him from the shadows.

He was more in tune with his powers now so it was not really something to sweat about and people were more terrified of him, even Martha stayed clear of Tom and only berated him when he gets out of line in his own accord.

It had gone on like that for months and sometimes Tom would see the weak midget move his head this way and that, looking for him whenever he was on the park or near the orphanage but Tom was great at hiding his presence so his search was in vain.

It gave Tom a different rush of _power_ knowing that he could hurt them without them knowing; watch over someone, make them squirm even though he was invisible; knowing that he held some sort of power over them.

Like some predator watching its helpless prey.

Tom realized that he _loved _this feeling.

* * *

Their last meeting as mere children, and perhaps the most memorable, was on a cold winter morning.

Harry sat on a swing by the park, gently swinging himself back and forth. His toes never left the ground just as his verdant eyes never left the blue-gray sky.

He was free from the suffocating presence of the Dursleys for the whole day since they went out somewhere Harry didn't even take notice of because knowing that he would be alone—albeit with a list of chores—was very much distracting.

His thin body was covered with warm but too big clothes that he'd borrowed from Dudley without permission, he didn't want to freeze to death after all and besides they wouldn't be back until later that evening so as long as he took care of it, he'll be fine.

The sound of running footsteps took hold of Harry's attention. Turning around he saw the children from the orphanage flood into the park and cheerfully run about the playground, others went to the covers of the trees while others went to sit on benches that littered the sides.

It was then that Harry remembered of the other dark-haired child he'd been seeing lately. He thought he'd forget but one couldn't really forget such cold eyes and similarly cold personality did they? And besides the boy held himself unlike any other child from the orphanage and there was a different feeling about him that Harry could not, for the life of him, tell. If it weren't for his clothes, Harry would have thought that he was one of the boys living in grandiose mansions and reared up to be princes or something.

Either way, that kid definitely took on the air of one. He even got the personality right on point although ruder.

Just as another child took the unoccupied swing on his side, Harry saw the pale boy he'd been thinking of, trudge into the park with a heartfelt scowl on his face.

Without thinking about it, Harry immediately vacated his seat—not even noticing as another child took hold of it—and approached the other.

"Hey!" Harry called out once he was near enough. He saw the other stiffen before squaring his shoulders and continuing on as if he never heard. Making a sound of irritation, Harry called out to him again only to be ignored once again.

It continued on like that until the other finally turned to him with a face carefully void of emotion. Harry felt the way his lips almost twitched upwards in a grin but then he noticed that they were now hidden in the trees. Suddenly, Harry felt a sense of foreboding as he eyed the other child with suspicion.

"What are we doing here?" Harry asked, voice tight with nerves.

Tom didn't answer for a long moment and Harry was sure that he wouldn't say or do anything other than stare at him with _those _eyes.

"Didn't you want to talk to me, _Harry?_ I merely took you to an appropriate place."

And that was what Harry meant about acting like a prince. Why did he feel like talking so extravagantly when it was only Harry he was talking to? Where did he even learn?

"Why do you talk like that?" And of course, Harry just had to ask.

Tilting his head, Tom replied, "Like what exactly, _Harry?"_

Shivering from the breeze that touched his nape, Harry answered, "Too polite. Like a prince or something." Then remembering something, he immediately added, "Why do you say my name like that? And just so we're fair, tell me your name."

"Why is my name so important to you_? _It's not like we're… friends or anything, are we? We merely see each other out in the streets by chance like common strangers do."

The boy was moving now, circling him like a wolf and looking up and down his body. Harry immediately tensed. There was something heavy in the air, giving him goosebumps.

Harry didn't answer instead he warned in a sharp tone, "Stop walking around me. You're making me uncomfortable."

The other did. Right behind him. Harry didn't even look, feeling that when he did something bad would happen.

"Why won't you look at me when you're talking to me, _Harry? _I did what you told me obediently, right? The least you could do would be to look me in the eye and face me as we talk."

The way the other said it was like a challenge. Harry didn't know how, but he knew that the other held an evil grin in his lips.

Slowly turning around, Harry shoved his shivering hands on his pants, and faced the other dead on. There were mere inches between their faces—there was no evil grin on the other's pale but beautiful face, it was just as blank as earlier—and Harry realized that not only were the other's eyes cold and sharp, they held the color of dark shadows, foreboding and dangerous.

"Tell me your name." Harry persisted.

"Why is my name so important to you?" Tom shot back just as stubborn.

"Why won't you just tell me!" Harry's temper was getting the better of him now but who wouldn't? The other was just so irritating. Just staring at him like that and evading his questions.

"Tell me, _Harry. _Have you ever made something move without touching them?" The dark-eyed boy whispered, eyes never wavering as he stared at him.

"Where are you going with this?" Harry shivered. He told himself that it was because of the cold.

"Have you ever done something unexplainable without meaning to?"

Harry's mind went back to the way he'd change his teacher's hair color accidentally, the way he'd appeared on the top of a roof when he was running on the ground, the way his hair had grown too fast after a nasty haircut from his auntie.

"Made people _hurt _because they hurt you?" The other whispered as his dark eyes glinted knowingly.

Harry jerked away from him, suddenly remembering what he really wanted to ask the other, "You! You _saw _what happened and yet you didn't say anything! Other people would have said something but you just watched and didn't even comment about… about me! Tell me then. Are you the same as me?"

"About how you're a _freak_?" The other spat.

Harry bristled and shot back, "Oh? _I'm _a Freak? Then you're just the same as me, aren't you?"

The other jerked back and said venomously, "_I _am not like _you._ You're _weak_ and _shameful_. No wonder other people treat you like a slave and hunt you down like a _pig._"

Harry was gaping at him in shock, eyes wide and cloudy with furious tears. In his hurt and anger, his mouth spouted the very words he never wished to any other. "How dare you!? At least I have a family unlike you! Living in a filthy orphanage and thrown by your own parents! If anythi—"

Harry was cut short when something hit his head in such force he'd flew in the air and landed a couple of meters away from the other child. The pain was so unbearable and there was blood trickling down his cheeks, staining his hands blood red. He even had to close his left eye from how heavy the red liquid flowed down.

"You _dare, _you filthy pig." The other bellowed in righteous anger as he advanced towards him in quick strides. "And here I thought I'd give you another chance to redeem yourself but it would seem that cowards would always stay cowards."

The other sneered at him before adding, "You look good down there, covered in your own filthy blood. At least you're on your rightful place."

Harry never saw him again after that and when he went back and cleaned his wound and Dudley's jacket. He found out that he now had a scar shaped like a lightning bolt to visibly remind him of the other dark-haired child.

* * *

Hello, first of all, thank you for taking the time to read this crappy fic of mine.

I'm new to writing, so please do give me helpful critics so I could make this story worthwhile for all of us. Just no rude comments please. I have a weak heart hahaha.

I've been away from this fandom for a long time so I might have gotten their characterizations wrong. Please forgive me.

I got this idea a long time ago of 'What if they grew up together but hated each other's guts?'

I liked it, so this fic was born. I hope i'll be able to deliver through. I've got another Tomarry fic coming up and it's a crossdressing!Harry, still magic of course, so if you like that sort of fics, please look out for mine :)


	2. Feud, Start!

Thank you to those who followed, Favorited and reviewed! As a rookie, you made me very happy.

Please read notes at the end. They are Important, I think. Thank you!

* * *

Tom was taken by surprise when someone, a stern-looking woman in strange clothing and graying hair up in a tight bun, visited him.

He immediately turned his full attention from where he was watching a certain dark-haired kid outside to the women standing outside his door. Martha stormed away once she'd done what it was she's supposed to do, leaving them by themselves.

They both eyed each other warily, no doubt their drunkard of a matron had ran her mouth off to her, before the woman finally introduced herself as Professor Minerva McGonagall and offered a hand but Tom didn't take it instead he flicked his eyes towards the proffered limb before staring at her suspiciously once again.

Perhaps with a tad bit of anger showing through his eyes because he saw her move almost a step back, it was miniscule but Tom had a very sharp eye especially with body reactions. He'd had a lot of practice after all.

At first he didn't believe her when she said that she was a _professor _because surely, no professor would dress like _that. _He even vocalized his thoughts but after some more accusations and a resigned sigh from the woman, she gave him an in depth explanation of just _what _she was and after a slight illustration, Tom got his second surprise that day.

She was a _witch._

Which made _him _a wizard.

And this power was actually _Magic._

Magic. He liked it better than that science stuff because it meant he was different, that he was a specialbeing_._ He'd always known there was _something_.

Needless to say, he was more pleasant to her after that. Then the woman started talking about giving him a place on a magical school, Hogwarts, as she called it.

He accepted readily, of course. Who would waste such golden opportunity?

Their kind was kept a secret from _muggles_—a fitting name for non-magical people—a secret society kept invisible to them.

He'd thought about it of course after he'd seen Harry but after some searching, he didn't know whether to be disappointed or not when it didn't look like there were others like him except for that weakling but now that he knew that there were actually others even to the point of having a school for them with a special way of admitting it's students—not that he'd expected less after all everything special _deserved _special—he was not disappointed, in fact he was feeling elated, the same excitement as he first knew of his _magic—_yes he definitely liked that term, it sounded right on his tongue—flooded him as he listened with rapt attention to what she was saying. But wait—

"How did you know where I was?" Tom asked curiously.

"Magic." Why, yes. Of course. Silly Tom.

He barely managed to roll his eyes.

"Of course, Madam, but _how?_" He queried, politely as he could.

She cleared her throat, a tinge of red on her bony cheeks. It would seem that even to her own ears that sounded dumb, "…By a magical artifact left by the founders of Hogwarts." She said in a very proud tone, "It is very ancient and had been used for many decades now. It writes down each and every magical child that could be admitted to the school."

"Then surely you could have come earlier?" Tom countered, still keeping his façade up.

"Ah, you are a very perceptive young man." She said, a smile forming on her thin mouth as she took an envelope out from her robes, "You see, we could only tell after a child turned eleven years old and thus the child's invitation is only then written and given to them on the very same day."

Tom accepted the letter, his name written in blue ink twisted in an elegant script and right down below was his address, even his room number was stated. But if what she'd said was true, then his birthday was today? Ah, well. Not that it mattered greatly.

"Now, since you've already consented. I'm going to give this to you," She handed him a pouch, heavy and clinking with coins, "This is from the school. We have a fund for children with certain circumsta—"

"Orphans," Tom butted in irately before he caught himself and added with a voice thinly veiled with his irritation, "or simply poor people who has no money to spare or none at all."

She cleared her throat, "Right you are, young man… This is only enough for all the things you'd need for your first year. Uniform, books, cauldrons; there is a list inside your envelope for reference, make sure to get everything on the list and most importantly… Your _wand. _You'll know all about it once you've bought it and I warn you to listen to what the wandmaker would tell you."

There was a glint in Tom's dark eyes as she mentioned that and his eyes briefly went to her robes where he knew she had hidden her own.

When asked if he'd liked to be accompanied to buy his belongings, Tom politely declined and merely asked her how to get there by himself which the professor had reluctantly told him thoroughly and even repeated it _twice._

"Oh and before I leave," Professor Mcgonagall started. Tom immediately gave her his attention by looking up at her questioningly, only to hear a rattling sound at his closet and his eyes zeroed in on it as he straightened up in his seat.

"I believe there is something on your closet that needs taking out." The professor stated softly, her eyes digging holes on the dark-haired child. Slowly, Tom stood from his seat and approached his rattling wardrobe.

Tom already knew what it was that was making the noise. Opening it, he took out the rattling box and with slow calculated movements, he emptied its contents on his bed and waited for whatever the professor would say or do.

There was a tense moment before her stern voice boomed against the room, "In Hogwarts, we do not take kindly to thievery or any other misconducts, Mr. Riddle. The punishment is heavy and we may or may not guarantee you staying once we know of such acts being done within or without the walls."

Tom's face darkened for a second before it took on a tense expression. That just wouldn't do. If he got thrown out of Hogwarts just because he couldn't control himself, wouldn't that show how incompetent he was to even controlling his own actions? If he can't even handle himself, how would he be able to handle _other _people?

And besides he _needed _this. If he wanted to know more, if he wanted to gain more power, he'll need to _stay. _

Wrinkled eyes surveyed him for a moment; Tom looked her in the eye and gave her his understanding. "I want these things given back to their rightful owners with an apology. Remember, Mr. Riddle, within or _without _the walls of Hogwarts. We have our own ways of knowing."

Dark eyes briefly glanced towards the trinkets spred out on his bed before he turned it back to the brown gaze of the professor. "Of course, Professor."

"I'll uphold you on that, Mr. Riddle. It would be quite a shame to have such brilliant young man to not reach their full potential just because of such misconducts."

Tom nodded his head, firmly. Oh, did he know.

"Well then, I'll see you in September first."

Briefly, the dark haired boy wondered if she would be the one to talk with _Harry _as well.

* * *

*Harry didn't know what he should be feeling. His chest was bursting with so much emotions at once that he could not believe how his heart could not be overheating by now—like that microwave he'd seen Dudley use and made _explode_—and how his ears were yet to smoke. He must have made quite the sight.

Was he excited? Oh yes.

Elated? Definitely so.

Thankful? No one would even start to understand how his heart was brimming with gratefulness.

Harry was a _wizard. _And if that wasn't enough, his _parents _were one, too and they didn't die in a car crash but how, the man won't tell him.

And most of all? Harry was _not_ a freak_._ He was… what did that man call it? _Special._

Everything that happened in the past few days had been so hectic.

An army of owls carrying letters addressed to him and his cupboard came and ransacked the Dursley's home with a flurry of envelopes when the Dursleys wouldn't respond or even read it, which in turn made his uncle go mad and take them to an island isolated in the sea, _which _made the owls turn to a _huge _man wielding an umbrella—wait, Harry's mind's going in shambles right now.

Although it was true that a huge man with a similarly huge beard came to give terror to the Dursleys and deliver a letter directly to Harry, there was a scuffle because his uncle would not let him go just like that but the huge man—Hagrid, his name was—made sure to shut him up _good_ and even gave a nice little present to his dear little cousin.

And that lead to them talking and Harry learning he was a wizard. Hagrid had raged when he saw the scar Harry concealed beneath his fringes but with a quick explanation to Hagrid—a half truth-half lie he'd crafted—he calmed down soon enough.

Everything was like a dream. But then Hagrid—he was a kind-hearted giant man that spoke a bit odd—took him to _Diagon Alley _and Harry had understood that everything was _not _a dream.

What he'd found odd was when Hagrid muttered his name to someone, that person—wizard—suddenly hollered his name in shock and in turn made other wizards turn their attention to him.

How people from the wizarding world _knew _of him and even had the nerve to look at him with pitying eyes—the way some _looked _at him made Harry think he'd done some sort of crime—when he didn't even know he was a wizard irked Harry in ways that made him want to grab Hagrid's umbrella and… And how _did _Hagrid use that umbrella? Not like any normal one, that was for sure.

It was only thanks to Hagrid's presence, or to be more specific, Hagrid's form that the glasses wearing child could enjoy his first trip to the busiest place in the wizarding world.

Their first stop was the wizarding bank manned by curious creatures Hagrid called Goblins. The way they talked was just as rough and terrifying as they looked but Harry found that they were pleasant enough when left by themselves which Harry gladly did.

After that, Hagrid had gently steered him from store to store and every time they entered, more things would be crammed into the bag his companion held in his huge hand. How that was possible Harry did not know but Hagrid had mentioned that it was _charmed _to hold more than it looked it could and since Harry was surrounded with _impossible _things, he'd believed him fast enough.

When Hagrid left him in a clothes shop, Harry had met another kid his age—he'd resolutely pushed the image of dark eyes and similarly dark hair out of his mind—and just when thought he could make his first wizard friend, the blonde just had to open his mouth and spout things about Hogwarts that Harry didn't know about but his intuition said that this kid was saying rude things.

The way he'd talked reminded him of a certain someone but at least this blonde was actually rich but the dark-haired boy who gave him the scar on his forehead acted more calm and proper. _This _one wouldn't even stop to at least let Harry talk so he just let the blonde flap his mouth and let the twitchy measuring tapes do their job as he tried to

The bespectacled boy idly wondered whether that dark-haired boy—and he still didn't even know his _name—_was invited in the same school as he was or if he even knew that he was a _wizard._ But that couldn't be right? He was in _that_ place but then again he did wound Harry without lifting a finger when Harry had accidentally angered him and hadn't that happened to Harry as well? Made things happen without meaning to when he was feeling strong emotions.

Suddenly remembering what he'd said to the pale boy, his hand reached up to his scar and traced a finger against the mark.

Shaking his head, he looked up to see Hagrid by the window and when the blonde beside him said something very rude about his first adult friend, Harry was now sure that he didn't like Draco Malfoy. Harry left him there without even a goodbye.

Hagrid greeted him warmly once he'd gotten outside and with a shout of 'Happy birthday' gifted him with a very beautiful snowy owl; her wings were littered with brown and black and eyes a bright amber. Soon, she'll be given the name Hedwig. Nevermind this being his very first present from his very first friend, _nothing _would ever be as precious as his owl.

The last that they went into—the one Harry was most excited with—was Ollivander's _Wand_ Shop. It was very much different from the other stores he'd been into. The inside was dusty and cramped with slim rectangular boxes piled up on shelves that stood from floor to ceiling and occupied much of the room's space.

Garrick Ollivander, the wandmaker and owner of said shop, was an old man with eyes like smoke. He'd said things Harry didn't understand but at least, the man was patient enough with him when after a lot of wand waving and almost destroying the inside of his shop, the green-eyed boy still could not find a wand suitable to him. He felt as gloomy as the room was but Ollivander felt the exact opposite and then a glint came into those pale eyes of his.

"I wonder," the man murmured before nodding to himself. Going deeper into the shop, Harry followed him with his curious green eyes until he couldn't see him anymore. Ollivander came back with a dusty box, he stared at him for a moment with his disturbing eyes before finally opening it and handing him a beautiful dark wand.

Upon touching it, Harry already knew. This was _his _wand.

The wood warmed underneath his touch like a greeting as the air around him shifted and swirled like a small whirlwind before settling down.

"Eleven inches, Holly wood. Very supple, with a phoenix tail feather as its core." The wandmaker announced before murmuring to himself, "Curious, quite curious."

Harry turned his attention back to him and queried, "Excuse me, sir. But what's curious?"

Those pale eyes shifted from the wand to his face then up his forehead, "You see, Mr. Potter. I remember every wand I ever sold. And it just so happens that the phoenix that gave the feather in that wand gave one other… The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. And it just so happens that the brother of the wand you hold on your hand right now chose another wizard, just weeks ago in fact, to be its wielder."

When the other didn't elaborate anymore, Harry prompted, "And that's curious because...?"

Ollivander stepped closer to him before answering, "In my years, I had never seen brother wands choose wizards in such short time. Others take years while some never does. Still, I feel a connection between the two of you and I find myself curious as to how your future would play out especially since it's you."

Harry didn't say anything else but there was a nagging at the back of his mind.

* * *

*Standing on the platform with his trunk stood on his side and his yew wand safely tucked on his plain dark robes, dark eyes surveyed his surroundings for a moment.

There were a lot of people even this early in the morning. He'd gotten there three hours ahead of schedule not just because he wanted out of that orphanage sooner but also because he knew he'd have a hard time finding _platform nine and three quarters. _

Only it wasn't that hard.

Tom had stood somewhere in platform nine for a few minutes before other wizard families came and entered a _wall. _He'd almost thought they were insane not because they were going through it—he already got the idea that it was a portal—but rather because they were doing it even with the station packed with muggles all around but then one look around the non-magical folks made him think that it must be charmed for muggles to not notice like that pub he'd entered to get to Diagon Alley.

The train had not yet arrived so Tom took a seat on the nearest bench and sat. His dark eyes observed the buzzling crowd, dark and bright robes moving in a flurry as they moved about. There were more witches and wizards that he had thought. He can't believe they managed to hide their presence for such long time. Muggles are such...

Still everything was like a dream. Just weeks ago he'd strongly believed that he was the only one who held such powers but here he was, surrounded by wizards and witches alike than he'd ever thought of. Even when he'd bought his school supplies; Tom had been so elated that he went back every week even if he had to walk the long way because he didn't have enough money for the fare. He kept his word about keeping himself in check since he couldn't be sure that he won't be caught just yet, not that he had plans of doing anything out of line, but just in case.

He'd already read his school books. He understood the theories but he had yet to perform them with his wand but he was sure that he could perform them efficiently. The wandmaker, Ollivander, told him that he could not use magic outside of school but hadn't Tom been using Magic even before the Professor came to him? So that meant that they wouldn't know unless he used his wand.

He'd tried doing the spells wandlessly but he couldn't do them so he'd given up on that for the moment and focused on reading ahead.

According to the book: Hogwarts, a history; there were four groups—houses, they called it—that comprise the students of Hogwarts, namely Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

Students were sorted by a magical artifact but their traits and personalities were also an element that tells which house they would be sorted into. If that was true then Tom would bet his shoes that he'd be in either, Slytherin or Ravenclaw house.

The station was brimming with people now to the point that he couldn't see anything beside the backsides of people standing in front of him. He suddenly got the idea that these people were no different from muggles other than the fact that they could wave a wand but he pushed it out of his mind just as fast.

Tom was so irritated on getting a butt-full that he'd stood up, magic flaring in irritation, making the butts—people around him give him a wide berth as he walk towards the platform.

He stood there for a few minutes before the tell-tale sound of a train coming, whistled from somewhere. Turning his head curiously, a huge red train came into view, thick white smoke coming out from above making a trail behind it as it went nearer.

'Trains, huh.' Tom was a bit disappointed but they _were _in a train station. He'd thought the way to Hogwarts would be like that portal or something magical and that the station was just a façade but he saw that it wasn't quite as deep as he thought it was. Well, it was beautiful so…

Looking up the clock, he saw that he'd been sitting there for almost two hours before those people irritated him. At least now he could board the train and be away from these wizards. With a grating noise, the train stopped and as soon as they were given the go ahead, Tom heaved himself up.

* * *

*Hagrid left Harry by himself once they were near the station. Harry was just thankful that a family of redheads was kind enough to help him to get through the barrier and on the train on time. Now, he was busy looking for a compartment that wasn't quite so full. He'd found one, but he saw the blonde—Malfoy inside so he didn't even bother.

He walked through the isle, listening for a compartment that didn't look like the people inside knew each other—he didn't want to intrude after all—and peeking on the small windows until he found one near the end. Opening it, he was greeted by a pale beautiful face, already dressed in the standard first year robes. He'd almost closed it again but the words this kid had uttered to him passed through his mind.

Summoning courage from up above, he went inside along with his trunk and owl.

"No manners at all, _Harry."_ The way this brat said his name was really irritating. Harry ignored him for a second as he heaved his trunk up with much difficulty before finally sitting himself in front of the other and laying Hedwig's cage carefully on his side. She was sleeping with her head under he wing.

"What? I knocked; it's not my fault your nose is stuck on a book to hear it." Harry answered bitingly before remembering himself. Verdant eyes shifted out the window as he tried to quell his temper.

"What did I expect." The other murmured before saying, "I see that you got invited." The book closed with a soft thump. Harry felt himself tense again as the other eyed him with those dark eyes of his.

"Yes. I see that you did as well." Finding himself curious he added, "Did owls deliver your letter? Or did Hagrid visit you too? But before that. Isn't it about time you tell me your name? We'll be classmates from now on so what's the point of keeping you name a secret?" The pale kid merely tilted his head.

"I'll start." Straightening at his seat, Harry offered his hand, "Hi, my name is Harry Potter and this beautiful sleeping owl is Hedwig. Nice to finally meet you."

The boy didn't even move but he was looking at Harry with wide eyes before it looked down at his hand and into his familiar. Harry would have thought that he might have known him like those wizards back in Diagon Alley did but he did not react the same way when they first met. Maybe the surname? Before he could say anything else, a pale hand grabbed his.

"Tom Riddle." Tom shook it firmly once before letting go. Harry noted that his hand was warmer than his cold personality presented. "You have a very beautiful owl. Hedwig, was it?"

Harry nodded, eyes shifting around. He'd just noticed that Tom didn't have any animal companion but shrugged it off just as soon."Since you call me by my name, I'll do the same. It's just fair." Harry commented.

"What's with you and fairness?" Tom asked, cocking a slim eyebrow, "There's a hundred percent chance you'll be sorted in Hufflepuff."

Harry frowned in confusion, "Hufflepuff? What's that?"

Tom frowned back but shrugged his shoulders, "Nevermind. You mentioned owls. Why would they make owls deliver your letter? In that matter, who visited you?"

Harry's frowned deepened. Wasn't he the one asking questions? "Why must you always answer me with questions? For once, won't you answer me directly?"

"Alright then." Tom acquiesced. "No, there were no owls. Yes, someone visited me and told me about Hogwarts. And no, I wasn't keeping my name a secret. I just didn't want to tell you."

So that meant that Tom didn't know about the wizarding world as well until someone told him. They were more alike that Harry thought.

"So you didn't know that you were a wizard as well?" Harry asked, tilting his head. Tom frowned but reluctantly nodded his head. "I don't know why owls delivered my letter and I say owls because when my family ignored it, they suddenly made our house rain down with invitations. It got my uncle so mad, he took us in a house somewhere in the sea and that's when Hagrid came and gave me my letter."

There was a soft chuckle, it almost got Harry's heart stop beating. He looked at the other with a shocked expression, "Your _family _must have known what's inside the letter and must have been very much against it to take you somewhere far away_._"

That chuckle was not with good intentions, Harry should have known. He looked out the window once again, thinking about the last day they saw each other.

He'd never live it down. What he said to Tom. Harry knew how Tom must have felt when he heard those insensitive words. And the worst was that it came from Harry's very own lips.

He'd very much like to apologize but didn't the other hurt him in retaliation? It even left an ugly scar on his forehead and even said those mean things as a farewell. Unconsciously, his hand went up to rub his scar. A habit he'd gotten ever since.

Harry was shocked though when pale hands grabbed his arms forcing it down. "What is that?"

Harry jerked his arms off the other before immediately covering his scar once with his hair once again before the other could stare at it more. "It's nothing."

"That was because of me, wasn't it?" The way he sounded, it didn't look like he was sorry.

Harry felt the anger bubble up inside of him but he forced it down. The last time he'd let his temper get the best of him, he'd gotten a scar. A scar that always reminded him to think before he act.

* * *

*Potter.

Tom had read that name in some book.

It was short and incredibly inadequate but it mentioned that ten years back, the wizarding world was at war and it was said that the Dark Lord that started such war was the strongest yet. The reason as to why was cliché, world domination and all that, but Tom believed that someone said to be powerful should be just as intelligent as well, right? There must be a _real_ reason but it was not stated in the book.

It was only when Albus Dumbledore—now headmaster of Hogwarts—and a group of people that the dark lord did not succeed in his conquest.

Where the Potter name came in was when the downfall of said Dark Lord came about. They were targeted by the Dark Lord specifically and died in combat but not before they incapacitated him. There was no mention that they killed him but the Dark Lord had been silent since then.

Anyway, it was all in the past. He'd look more into that when he got the money and time to spare but for now he'd rather focus on what matters most.

Being the only one present and alive when it happened, their only son, Harry was also pretty well-known in the wizarding world. He was even called the boy-who-lived despite the fact that he didn't do anything and that made him boil with frustration.

Famous all because of his parents. How stupid could that be? But either way. They'll know soon enough who their boy savior really is, a doormat that let other people trample on him so easily despite having the power to fight back.

He could only imagine what Harry had gone through when he first step foot in their world. Why he was with a family that abused him, Tom didn't know nor care, after all everyone had their own problems to deal with.

When he looked up again, Harry was rubbing his forehead but Tom's dark eyes zeroed in on the lightning bolt scar. He was so surprised; he took hold of the other's arm to take a better look.

"What's that?" The other frantically covered it up again but Tom already saw. He also knew that that was his own doing. "That was because of me wasn't it?"

Tom had been so busy with reading his schoolbooks that he'd forgotten about that incident. It happened a week before Professor Mcgonagall had come to see him.

Tom gave Harry the benefit of doubt, just to see if he could be useful in the long run and befriend him but then things played out wrong and all Tom could see was red. He had been so angry that he reacted out of pure instinct.

What Harry said had been plaguing Tom's mind when he was younger. A family. Parents.

He'd wondered about them as well, thought they would be passing through the doors soon and save him from that hellhole but then years passed and no one came. The others had said that it _was _because of his powers that his parents didn't want him and he had believed them.

There was only his power and him. So he learned to defend himself with it. His parents and those orphans be damned.

"I'd like to say sorry." The soft voice shook Tom out of his reverie and he turned his dark eyes to the other's—Green, Tom just realized. Harry's eyes were green.

Tom never noticed it, what with his dark unruly hair falling down his thin face and his thickroundglasses covering them up. Tom thought idly that they were beautiful. When Tom finally understood what he just heard, he tilted his head curiously.

Harry straightened in his seat again, face tinted a soft pink, "You started it… but I'd like to say sorry about what I said back then. I didn't mean it so don't take it too seriously."

Tom kept his silence, not quite knowing what to say, not that he needed to because the other didn't seem to be finished just yet.

Harry exhaled sharply and loudly before shouting, "There! Now I said it! So you say it too because this," He pointed at his scar, "_This _hurt like hell. I had a hard time cleaning the blood off the jacket… And I still hate you." He finished, crossing his arms petulantly and glaring at him.

Tom didn't know whether to laugh or be irritated again. He just said the truth why should he say sorry? This was like being back in that blasted orphanage all over again but if he wanted to claim the top, then he needed to change his attitude and wouldn't now be a great opportunity?

Being kind did _nothing_. It only proved how gullible someone could be and Tom would show Harry the truth of it all.

Putting on an apologetic face, he bowed his head and said, "I apologize as well for hurting you. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me."

"Whoa!" Harry exclaimed making Tom look at him with a frown on his face.

"What? I apologized, didn't I?" Tom asked irately, voice still polite.

Harry looked at him with bulging eyes, "U-uh, yeah… Just… Like I said. Like a prince. You're too polite but uh, it's not a bad thing… I still hate you."

Tom took that as a compliment and grabbed his book again. "So do I."

"No wait!" Tom put it down again and looked at the other with much patience, "Won't you please tell me about… What was that again? Power puff? Powder puff?"

Barely managing to withhold a sigh, Tom gave the bespectacled idiot the book he was reading and before the other could protest he said out loud the exact page Harry could read those in.

"I almost forgot." Harry whispered, Tom looked at him curiously, "Tell me something first. Were you the one who made me trip and all the other unexplainable things that happened back then?"

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, feigning ignorance.

Harry scoffed, "I thought it was my magic that's going haywire but it's you isn't it?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders, not answering outright but something seemed to have given him away because Harry glared at him again, "I really hate you."

The rest of the ride was silent except for the turning of pages and a girl—with hair more scandalous than Harry's was—asking them if they saw a toad. They answered honestly and she left but not before warning Harry to change into school robes and praising Tom for being responsible. Harry scoffed that he was already dressed even before he boarded the train but Tom shut him up with a glare.

* * *

*Tom and Harry parted ways once they got out of the train.

Harry resolutely avoided Tom and when Ron Weasley—the youngest from the family of redheads that helped him that morning—found him; they stayed together until the sorting.

As the boats sailed across a dark lake, Harry got the most pleasant surprise and from the awed noises from the other children, it would seem that it was also their first time seeing Hogwarts.

Their school was a magnificent _castle_ with shadows pooling below it and seemingly trying to make the magnanimous school blend with the night. The windows, small and big alike, were alight with yellow lights that shined as bright as the stars scattered abundantly above. Harry could not remember the last time he'd seen the night sky crammed with stars.

Harry was staring so much that he didn't hear when someone fell on the lake but Ron's shout took his attention and he looked back to see a girl being laid down the boat by a… was that a _tentacle_?

Yes. It was a tentacle, Hagrid just shouted.

Grinning widely Harry thought Hogwarts was _wicked_. _Cool._

Once they were out the boat, he and Ron chatted all the way upstairs where they were briefed by a strict woman named Minerva Mcgonagall. Remembering that this was the woman who talked to Tom, Harry listened with half an ear—since he already read about it back in the train—as he surreptitiously tried to find a familiar dark well-groomed hair but failed so he turned his attention back to her.

As she finished, she instructed them to wait so both Ron and Harry chatted again. They stopped when ghosts floated in from the wall at their back and Harry would have shouted if not for Ron's frightened squawk. Harry turned to the pale redhead with an amused smile but the redhead silenced him with a playful punch in the arm.

Harry would have laughed when he heard Ron say that they would need to fight a troll to get in but wasn't he just as ignorant as Ron was earlier? So he corrected his misinformed friend and silently thanked Tom on his head. But he still hated him.

Ron's relief was evident on his face as he muttered something about killing.

Harry was flattening his robes when the rude blonde, Draco Malfoy, stood in front of him with the intention of befriending him. He almost did—again—but this blonde just had to bad mouth his friend—again—so Harry retaliated with not accepting his friendship.

From the way Malfoy glared at him, Harry already knew that he had made another enemy in the _first day_ of school. They didn't even start yet.

Even Harry was amazed by his talent of making enemies with just breathing.

When the professor came back, she immediately directed them into big double doors that lead towards the great hall. When they got inside, Harry found that it was just as magnificent as it was outside.

The enchanted ceiling mimicked the night sky but it was much more vivid and much more beautiful. Harry felt that if he had reached out a hand he could touch the sky with his bare hands.

Only when the hall went silent did Harry's stomach churn. He watched as Professor Mcgonagall placed a stool in front of the teacher's table and an ancient looking hat followed on top of it.

Harry was just as surprised when the hat suddenly twitched and started to _sing._ It sung about the houses and some cryptic words at the end but Harry clapped along the crowd as it finished.

One by one, students were called out and sat on the stool. Some didn't even take more than a second to be sorted like Malfoy was but some took more time than others like the girl who entered their compartment, Hermione Granger. They were sorted in Slytherin and Gryffindor, respectively.

As the students around him dwindled, Harry's stomach gave the worst somersault and his heart was playing boxing with his chest. He turned around instinctively and saw Tom standing behind him looking relaxed as ever, but from the way his lips were thinned, Harry was not fooled.

Dark eyes turned to him then and when Tom nodded his head, Harry nodded back; putting on a smile to at least lessen the tension but the other had the nerve to actually raise his eyebrow. Frustrated, Harry turned his attention upfront. Why the hell did he do that? He of all people should know what a jerk that brat was.

Just then his name was called out and Harry's tension came back full force.

Harry glanced at Tom, who was looking at him with a blank expression, before looking at the woman holding the hat. Taking a tentative step forward,—just to see if his feet were still with him, they were so numb they didn't feel alive—he advanced towards the stool and sat. For a moment, he saw all eyes staring at him and it got his heart winning against its boxing match with his ribs but the hat sat on his head soon and his vision got dark as it fell on his eyes.

The hat was talking inside his head. Was this why it took so much time to sort students?

"_Why yes, Mr. Potter. What did you think? I don't get paid enough on this job." _The hat jibed in.

"_You have a salary?" _Harry repeated incredulously.

"_Dear child, can't you take a joke?"_ A joke from a talking hat? Yeah, right.

"_Oh, so rude. I'll have you know, you'll never find a better hat than me."_ Was that a joke as well?

"_Shush, I do not lie. Now be quiet, I need to sort you." _There was a pause before the other started again,_ "Hmm, where shall I put you?"_

Harry repeated under his breath "Not Slytherin, not Slytherin."

"_Not Slytherin, eh? You could be great you know, it's all here in your head and Slytherin can help you on your way to greatness—no? Well, if you're sure. Better be—_Gryffindor!"

The hat finally shouted and Harry felt relieved as he stood from the stool. They all gave him a round of applause but his house welcomed him warmly with cheers and claps on the back as he took a seat. His tie took on a red and gold color to mark his house and the Gryffindor crest appeared on the formely blank space on his left breast.

Not a minute after though, Tom Riddle was called.

Harry sat on his seat and silently watched as Tom straightened his back and with grace and confidence Harry lacked, walked towards the stool. It took a moment before the hat shouted Slytherin. Harry clapped along with the others as Tom's robes took on the Slytherin color and emblem and although there was some polite applause, the Slytherin house did not welcome Tom just as warmly as they welcomed Malfoy.

Briefly, their eyes met.

This time, it was Tom who looked away first as Harry kept his verdant eyes on his form and clapped as Ron was sorted into their house.

The headmaster gave his speech—if it could be called a speech—and warnings before the welcoming feast finally started. Just a clap and food suddenly appeared. Harry just wished he could do that as well back in the Dursley's.

Looking at the Slytherin table once again, he saw Tom sit as if his back was made from straight steel. His hands were mechanical as they put food on his mouth and drank from his goblet.

From what he'd read about the Slytherin house and from what Ron had just said, Harry can't help but think that Tom was at his field.

* * *

*Tom sat tersely in his seat.

He'd also read about the different groups in _blood. _What was with the magical world? Classifying people with everything and anything.

First with these houses, second with light and dark, third with bloods? What next? Their wands? He will not be surprised if there was also a classification between animals as well.

Although it was not stated in the book that Slytherin were comprised of pureblooded magical people, from the talks happening all around him. Tom could already tell.

These brats were well versed in the magical world and etiquette. Although he could see some who looked confused as they stared at the others, at least Tom did not look as idiotic as they did. He could almost tell everyone who were stuck-up pureblood brats.

The way they talked was like being in a courtroom. All fake smiles and polite speeches. Faces carefully controlled. Kids his age were looser in that aspect although they acted just as extravagant especially that blonde that got turned down by Harry. At least that bespectacled idiot knew how to read people but he should have taken the other's friendship and used it for his own gain.

Malfoy's groaning about it was already giving Tom a headache even though he was seats away from that idiot. Tom could only pity the ones sitting next to him; such shrill voice reminded him of his alcoholic matron.

Not one tried to talk to him, didn't even look once in his direction. Just as he'd expect, but he knew that sooner or later they would confront him. Perhaps, their dorm? The dorms were also separated by houses so most probably, all tense affairs happened within its private walls. They _were_ Slytherins.

Still, as he sat there and listened to them talk, Tom can't help but think that he was _home._ He only hoped these people would prove to be a challenge to him.

Looking up, he saw Harry already being swarmed by his housemates. Either that was due to his fame or his own social skills, Tom already knew the answer. If that green-eyed kid were to be sorted in Slytherin, which was unlikely, he just knew Harry won't make it. People like him would get eaten alive in the snake pit.

When they were finished with the welcoming feast, Tom almost heaved a sigh of relief but the headmaster stood up, flicked his wand, and a ribbon started forming words in the air.

Tom was starting to think that Dumbledore—supposed rival to the Dark Lord—had a few screw loose as he let the students sing the school anthem—Tom was having his doubts—by their own tune and even went along as those rambunctious redhead twins finished the song last in a slow funeral march.

Finally, it ended and with a goodnight from their headmaster were guided by their house prefect to their dorms.

Tom followed behind, wanting to take a better look at everyone and memorize the path fast since they were supposed to be a secret from other houses. Just as he exited the great hall though, a familiar voice.

"Tom!" Turning around curiously, he saw Harry running past multiple bodies and making his way towards him. He waited patiently, keeping an eye on his own group as they continued on although there were some curious students looking at them unabashedly.

"Looks like I wasn't a hufflepuff, huh?" The other grinned.

"So you were." Tom humored him. More people were looking at them now. Harry's influence most probably. "It took you quite some time up there. I think you even surpassed the longest record. I almost thought you won't be sorted anywhere but well…"

The other frowned but it turned to a smirk soon enough, "That hope got crushed, huh? So… Slytherin? It fits you very much, almost got there but nah. Don't want to be stuck with you."

Tom cocked an eyebrow. Harry was almost sorted into Slytherin? Why, that hat must be more ancient than it looked. From the whispers around them, it would seem he was not the only one shocked to hear that.

"You lie. You? A Slytherin? I don't believe it, Harry. You don't quite fit in here."

"Whatever, it's the truth! So did the hat mention Ravenclaw at all?" Harry asked, tilting his head. "Got the boorkworm part right to a T." There was a noise of frustration from all around but Harry's attention was focused on him.

"As a matter of fact, yes it did." Tom looked at the way his house disappeared into, there were still others around him and no doubt they knew the way but he'll be damned if he looked irresponsible in front of them so early in the year, "But I must cut our talk short, Harry. Unlike you, I don't want to be wandering these halls until morning."

From the way Harry paled and looked behind him, the idiot didn't think of that before calling out to him, huh? Sighing silently through his nose, Tom waved him farewell and turned on his heels.

"Wait!" Tom paused but merely turned his head to Harry's direction but the serious and determined expression on the other's face was what made him look at Harry properly. "I'll prove you wrong."

And with that, Harry ran towards his redhead friend and together they hurried towards their house.

Gryffindor, huh? Tom suddenly realized that Harry _was _one. It would seem that he wasn't the only one who wanted to prove something to the other.

Issuing a challenge to _him._ Well, Harry wanted war? He'll give him war.

* * *

I put it up as soon as I finished it. If there are any errors, please tell me. English is not my first language. That's why the narration is lacking and I don't use big words.

You must have noticed by now that there will be no Lord Voldemort. There will be a dark Lord and I think you all know who that will be but it will play out differently here. Very differently.

Also the romance is slow build-ish, me thinks... It will not also be all about romance. The plot is there... Somewhere. Oh my God. I'm such crap.

The most **important** thing to take note would be that:

Tom Riddle won't be the same complex character as he is on the book. I don't think I could handle that since I'm a rookie and I'm not good at analyzing characters. But he will still be the same power-hungry individual. Intelligent, charming and manipulating. I'm taking the more human side of Tom, since I think that would be easier to handle.

To the guest reviewer, SmallSmile:

Harry's scar is something _connecting _the two of them. So expect that if I ever write something about these two, I would _always_ find a _reason_ for making Tom give Harry his scar. As for your other questions, they're mentioned up above.

I hope that answered your question :)

To the other reviewers, Thank you!


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